Floating the Rose
by Kristi
Summary: In mid-S4, Giles finds out Willow's secret.


"Floating the Rose"

Willow appeared at my door, quite unexpectedly, needing to borrow a book for a spell. 

"Floating the rose?" I said. "That's done to hone one's concentration for spell casting." I smiled at her. "Willow, I'm quite glad that you are taking care to practice properly. Acquiring power is well and good, but without focus—" 

"I know, I know, it could be dangerous," she said with a smile. 

"I assume you know this is a two-person spell?" I said. 

"Uh huh," she said, wide-eyed. "I've got a partner – from Wicca group. A magic-type partner." 

"I see. But, usually – that is, the rose represents quite an intimate connection between the casters." 

"Um. Yeah. Isn't that funny," she said flatly. 

"Ah," was all I could think of to say. So Willow had a new boyfriend she didn't want to tell me about. Well, that was just lovely. No need to tell me, I'll merely meet him several months after they've been dating . . . bloody punk will probably call me 'sir.' 

"I, um. . . ." Willow flipped the pages of the book nonchalantly. 

"It's quite all right, Willow; everyone keeps secrets." 

"No!" she cried. "I don't mean I don't want to tell you – I _do_," she said earnestly. "I wanted to tell you, and Buffy and Xander. No one knows – I just wasn't sure how . . . what if. . . . " she trailed off. 

I watched her, confused. What was she going on about? 

"Her name's Tara," Willow blurted. She started pacing laps around my living room. Before I could she respond, she babbled, "I just didn't know how to tell you – any of you -- 'cause I didn't even know what there was to tell. It's just so . . . my head is just all, like –" she fluttered her hands to indicate disorganized activity. "I mean, there's . . . aspects of my past, and they don't feel wrong, not at all. But this new thing feels really right, too." 

Sometime in the middle of that speech, the truth hit me rather like a wrecking ball. 

"My goodness." I sat down hard. 

She twisted her rings nervously. "Are you – um – I mean, you're like old-_er_ and stuff. So if you, like, think it's wrong or something . . ." 

"No . . . I don't believe that," I said slowly, distracted. 

Because several dozen thoughts were stampeding through my head. How long had this been going on? Did anyone else – no, she said I was the first to know. I was the first to know? Good lord. 

Was she getting involved in something too rashly, not considering things through? Was she prepared for what her friends may say? Her parents? Perfect strangers? Echoes of Freddie singing that 'it's a hard life' shook loose memories from my own youth – that bar brawl Ethan got into – and, beneath the shock, grew concern. Was she all right? Confused? Frightened? Depressed? 

"Giles?" 

I looked across the room as if looking across years to the young woman I'd seen grow into her own for the past three years. The hair had gotten shorter, the chin stronger, the eyes more determined. She wasn't the same tenth grader with a crush who volunteered after school to help with the reshelving. 

I crossed the room and hoped the right words would meet me when I got there. "I'm surprised, of course. Quite surprised. However, I suppose what matters most is: are you happy?" 

Willow looked up at me tearfully. "Yeah," she said. "I mean, aside from the all-consuming anxiety of having to hide something from my friends –" her eyes grew suddenly wide. "You won't tell them, will you?" she squeaked. 

"Not if you don't want me to." 

"I want to tell them," she said wistfully. 

"They're your friends, Willow. If anyone will understand . . ." I realized that there wasn't a single thing I could say to make her feel better about this. "You'll know when you're ready," I said simply. 

To my surprise, she rather launched herself at me, attacking me with a hug. "Thank you!" she said. 

With few words after that, we ended up at the door. 

"I really hate this," she said. 

"What's that?" 

"That there's this _thing_ that I have to deal with. It really sucks." 

"Yes, it does," I said regretfully. 

""s not fair." 

"No. But, I'm afraid, neither is life," I told her. 

"That's what they tell me," she said with a smile and a wave. 

And she was gone. 

_I need a drink._

~*~ 

Much thanks to my beta, Annakovsky. Feedback appreciated at annegirl11@juno.com   
Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to High Pharaoh Joss.   



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